Ron Pate Poems

Our lives enslaved to predetermined courses of events, all leading to our conceived future. The natural order held by many as fate deciding how we meet, and how we love. It's born within our hearts and is our very soul..
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Bitter silence, words of few
Lips sealed, never parting in view
Sweet pallets frozen in time
Heart in disarray until morn's dew
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-Bugles sound charge and the drum plays, as pillows of white smoke unfolded while soldiers marched forward that early day. Rank and file were soon to fall, covered in
a blanket of blood red.
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- Through the stratocumulus covered crystal blue.

-  Standing neath the midday sun shining high, so shall you.
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   When I close my eyes and begin to dream into the night it seems; I drift away and travel back in time, to a place with disfigured faces haunt me, draining me and stealing my time.
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    Each time the wind ruffles the leaves in the trees outside and a distant bird sings, I see your face and hear your name.

  As each day begins it's all I can do, to cope with your enduring farewell.

When the night sky appears I find 
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 In a darkened place he lies back and dreams.  If he could go back in time, he capture the love lost so many years ago.  He'd prove once and for all he has a heart.
 Where once stood a man, now stands a shell.  Broken down from within and it's so hard to tell, cause he plays the part.....so well.  
  He can't capture her love and all he can do is stand back and watch as his whole world falls apart.  
  And in the end as his eyes grow dim; she'll run through his mind one final time.  He says, 'mark this day' I carry her love with me anyway..
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 As your eyes burn, from a fire deep within, sadness overwhelms your soul and refuses to let forgiveness in, and a Ocean of tears washes away your resistance, so you may try once again. 

Crashing against the jagged rocks of Life's shore, receding momentarily and then returning, until the hands of time moves healing your soul.
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   As the sun sets one last time for a dear friend, let my honor to him be a celebration of life, instead of a mournful goodbye.  A friend distinguishing himself amongst men and his difference set the example for so many to follow.  
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  As a premature spring rain is born to an early March wind, a heavy heart carries unfulfilled dreams within my soul.  
  Rain falls steadily never to cease or console, as if only to circumvent my actions for a short while, contorting and adding more difficulty as the March wind howls and blows.
  The mind wanders and reaches for a tiny fragment of youth as wrought iron rusts and a March wind swirls paying tribute to the Ode to the old.
   Nearby trees yield to and fro, struggling to stand tall as the unforgiving wrath carries on.  
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